A Death At Dusk
by Championship Vinyl
Summary: EPISODE FIC! That's right: this fic is designed to sound and feel like a real episode of Castle. A case from beginning to end, ALL our favorite characters, action, banter; what are you waiting for? PLEASE read and review! Crack the case with Castle!
1. Catalyst

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**Bam, said the lady! Behold, I present to you all my first Castle fic that is not Lanie/Esposito-centric (all though they WILL be IN it; I'm still **_**me**_**, after all). XD This fic is my attempt at writing an actual episode - and I mean it: I'm setting it up like an episode and everything. There'll be about six chapters, ish, and each chapter-break will be a "commercial break." Time-wise, the setting is whenever. I'm even going to start it with the real episode intro (unnecessary I know, but just to get your head in the game), and lyrics from a song after that, which would be playing if this were a real ep. It'll have all the main characters, a crime from beginning to end, and if I do it right, plenty of epicness. ^_^ So just sit back, relax, and tune in… Oh, and I do not own Castle.**

**And yes, I'm aware that the title of this story is reminiscent of Castle's novel **_**At Dusk We Die**_**. And the song in this chapter is "Rag And Bone" by The White Stripes.**

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_There are two kinds of folks who sit around thinking about how to kill people. Psychopaths, and mystery writers. I'm the kind that pays better. Who am I? _

_("I'm Rick Castle." _

"_Castle." _

"Castle_." _

"_I really am ruggedly handsome, aren't I?") _

_Every writer needs inspiration, and I've found mine. _

_("Detective Kate Beckett." _

"_Beckett." _

"_Beckett." _

"_Nikki Heat?" _

"_The character he's basing on you!") _

_And thanks to my friendship with the mayor, I get to be on her case. _

_("I'd be _happy_ to let you spank me.")_

_And together we catch killers._

_("We make a pretty good team you know. Like Starsky and Hutch. Turner and Hooch." _

"_You do remind me a _little_ of Hooch…")_

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_Well I,_

_Hope you got something shoddy for me,_

_Everybody got a Christmas tree,_

_Can you part with a toilet seat? _

_Ah-jump up, ah-jump up, ah-jump up_

_C'mon and give it to me - _

Almost sunset, a sidewalk near Seventh and West Fifty-Eighth. What seasoned New Yorkers have come to know as a 'sidewalk sale.' Some know it as 'trickle-down economics.'

Whichever name, there are scavengers.

"Over here?"

"C'mon."

"You sure none of this junk belongs to somebody?"

"Ha! If it did they ain't want it no more."

"Shut up."

"I'm _sure_, now hand me that and start grabbin.'"

"Better be. Last thing we need's to get killed for tickin' off the wrong guys, takin' their crap."

It was an ironic choice of words.

All it took was moving the cracked lamp a little to the right, lifting one dilapidated cardboard box. That was all the young couple had to do. _Got_ to do.

A human arm fell like string from the furniture pile.

Then the whole body.

Blood trickled, red reflection on two ashen white faces, and four eyes saw horror in the two on the pavement - blank, clouded, and resting eternally within a broken skull.

_- So take a last lick of your ice cream cone,_

_And lock up what you still wanna own,_

_But please be kind, And don't rewind,_

_All of your pretty, your pretty little_

_Rags and bones…_

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"Femoral artery. Severance of." _Whoosh_.

"Garroting." _Whoosh_.

"H…uhhh, hired hit."

"Nice."

"Thanks." _Whoosh_.

"I.V. overdose." _Whoosh_.

Downtown. A Koosh ball flew across the bullpen of the twelfth precinct. It was just after eight p.m, and most of the detectives had gone home in the dwindling, purple-gold daylight that filtered in, leaving the Homicide floor empty enough for slacking. The ball traveled from the hand of Detective Javier Esposito at one desk, to the palm of Detective Kevin Ryan at another. And back again. And back again.

"Uhh…jugular. Slit." _Whoosh_.

"You're slippin', bro. Gotta think faster. Keel-hauled." _Whoosh_.

"Ligature. And shut up." _Whoosh_.

Neither of them noticed the _NY_ and _PD_ parting as the elevator doors slid open, but they were at least vaguely aware of Detective Kate Beckett walking out of them. "'Sup," Esposito said, while Ryan nodded in her direction. Esposito caught the Koosh.

She really should have counted herself more surprised than this. As it was, the female detective arched one sculpted auburn-brown eyebrow as she came to her intended stop at Ryan's desk. "I'll probably regret asking but…_what_ are you two doing."

"Word game," Ryan answered.

"Ways to die." Esposito sailed the ball over to his partner.

Ryan one-handed it, lobbed it back. "Each corresponding to a letter of the alphabet. In order."

"You drop the Koosh, you lose."

"Flub a word, you lose too."

She could have figured it was something like that. Beckett crossed her arms. "Uh huh. And what does the _winner_ get?"

"Pride. And the right to take on Castle."

Yep. She wasn't naïve enough to say 'now I've heard everything,' but if she _had_ been, she'd be making that comment right now. "Much as I love the idea of Castle losing at his element, something tells me neither of you have seen pride _or_ the odds in a very long time." Producing a cardboard shipping box from the desk behind her - one that the boys hadn't even seen her bring _in_ - Beckett enjoyed watching their expressions shift as she dropped it by Ryan's nametag with a _thud_. "Since you guys are so into pulling overtime, Evidence needs some help sorting claimed items for pickup."

Esposito shook his head incredulously, chucking the ball back toward Ryan…but Beckett intercepted it.

"Hey!" Ryan made a face at the intercept.

"Now." She kept the ball in the hand she'd caught it with and tried not to smirk in triumph. It sounded so much more like an order that way.

Resigning to his fate, Ryan picked up a folder from the box. "You're getting way too much enjoyment out of this. Spoilsport."

"She's just jealous." A two-foot shove-off off his desk, and Esposito zoomed over on the wheels of his rolling chair. He braked beside the chair that Beckett had pulled up and took the gloves she handed him, but not the eyeroll. _That_ he ignored.

"Keep talking, Esposito, and I'll make sure you're Captain's first-draft pick for Saturday night duty."

"Like hell you will."

Ryan's impish chuckle was half drowned out by the sudden bleating of Beckett's cell phone, but that didn't stop his partner from throwing a 'whatever' scowl over at him and shaking his head. Setting down the few small, labeled plastic baggies she'd pulled from the shipping box, the she-detective stood up, lifted the device to her ear and used a thumb to flick it open, taking a few strides toward the direction of the Captain's office. "Beckett."

In the background, Ryan whispered, "Saved by the bell?"

"Don't jinx it bro."

"Uh-huh…really." At this point, drowning out moronic jabber was as much a second nature as it was an art form, and Beckett's complete focus remained entirely on the caller on the other line. Her expression was all business, taking in the all the information she was hearing and immediately logging it in her brain for later. "Yeah. Okay. Thank you." Snapping her cell shut, she walked back to her team at Ryan's desk, pulling off her rubber gloves and grabbing her coat from the back of her chair. "That was Dispatch. We've got a body near the park."

"Washington Square?" came from Esposito. He was already standing and following suit.

"Nope, Central."

"_Yesss_," Ryan hissed under his breath, bolting to his feet, and couldn't help but smirk when his relief earned him a light pop upside the head from Beckett.

"So glad you're happy about this, Ryan," she teased dryly. "You want to tell the family or should I?"

"I'm just not gonna respond to that."

"Saved by the bell, bro," Esposito confirmed, the three of them piling into the elevator. "Saved by the bell."

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Richard Castle was staring at his watch. And not because he froze time.

"Hello?" he called. It had been five hours. Five. _Hours._ What had started as a simple suggestion to spend more time together as a family had very quickly degenerated into that which he feared most: shopping. That's right; his biggest terror wasn't being held at gunpoint, or getting punched in the face or shot at or kidnapped while shadowing Beckett and the Twelfth…it was the notion of spending hours upon slug-like, endless hours in department store after department store, dragged uselessly along as his mother and daughter gabbed animatedly in She-Talk about the clothing items that would soon be another notch on his credit card.

Not that he ever minded lavishing Alexis with whatever she wanted. But had he mentioned his mother?

"Hel-_lo_-_o_," he tried again, craning his neck toward the back area full of brightly-lit, mauve-striped fitting rooms that he didn't dare brave on his own.

A stall opened, and a curtain of strawberry hair poked out, messily framing a porcelain face. "Dad, what?"

"Nothing - I stopped hearing girl-chatter. I was just making sure you were still in there and hadn't found the rabbit hole to Wonderland." Thinking, he added, "Without _me_, anyway."

Alexis sent her doe-ish baby blues for a roll. "_Dad_, we haven't been _that_ long. I'm almost done, I promise."

"And your grandmother?" he asked knowingly, raising an eyebrow.

"Will…probably get kicked out when the store closes."

"Mm-hm."

"But, if it's any consolation I _swear_ this is the last one," the teen rushed.

Rick smiled. It was inevitable. "I'm kidding, sweetie, no hurry."

"Well of _course_ there's no hurry: a woman can't develop her sense of style overnight," the second stall announced grandly. The door of it unlatched and swung out, revealing the incomparable Martha Rodgers in a low-backed, apple-green evening dress, with sleeves so voluminous they might as well have helped the pilgrims set sail. The grand dame walked out into the center of the wall-length tri-fold of mirrors, turned, twisted and pivoted to examine her look from every angle. "What do you think?"

Flicking an incredulous glance toward his daughter and back, Castle's raised eyebrow might as well have never left. "I think…nothing says 'I'm betraying my real age' like neon?"

"Oh, you," Martha scoffed, shooting a quick look at her son. "And it isn't _neon_, it's _spring_…what about you Alexis, what do you think."

The prodigal daughter studied the dress for a respectable number of seconds before lightly wrinkling her nose. "Sorry, Gram, it _is_ a little bit too…"

"Showgirls?" Rick guessed.

"Vibrant," Alexis amended. "And, not…in a _good_ way."

"All right, all right, I may see your point." With a fleeting 'watch it, buster' glance toward Richard, the diva smiled fondly on her granddaughter. "You see? There are _ways_ to tell a woman when something just isn't right for her. Thank you dear. Richard, you ought to learn a thing or two from this girl."

"Oh, I do daily," the bestseller smiled again, watching as the Empress of Eccentricity whooshed back into her dressing room stall. His eyes moved back to Alexis just as a pink flush swept the young girl's cheeks.

"Thanks dad. And…for the record, if I ever did find the rabbit hole I wouldn't go without you."

"Ah, always good to be reminded. Anytime pumpkin." Alexis ducked back into her stall to finish swapping one something-or-other for one in a different color, and it was then that a tinny rendition of 'She's A Lady' began playing from Rick's jacket pocket - the latest in a long slew of ringtones that meant only one person: Detective Beckett. Grinning in anticipation, he pressed 'accept' and lifted the smartphone to his ear. "Well hel-_lo_, Detective, I'm assuming there's been a murder - either that or you heard my subliminal cries for help from the clutches of my shopaholic mother."

"Your cross to bear, Castle, at least your logic is intact. …Well. Somewhat."

The writer's expression went flat in surprise. "Ryan? You're not Beckett…"

Clearly. The detective's smirk could be heard through the phone - he chose amused confusion over insult. "Uhh, very good…?"

Rick was still incredulous. "But…it's Beckett's ringtone."

"Yeah, I called you on her phone. Mine ran outta battery and she's behind the wheel in the Crown. Which ringtone, 'I Fought The Law' still?"

"…Yeah, sure." Just nod along: _so_ much easier than risking exposure. A friend, yes, but Ryan's loyalties lay with the boss who lay with the gun that'd make him lay with the fishes. The change of subject came swift and undeterrable. "So! Who, what, and where?"

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The 'where' was simple. West Fifty-Eighth Street near Seventh Avenue, half a minute's jaunt from the Essex Hotel. The flash of CSU cameras would have been blinding to the subject they were bombarding, if someone hadn't already permanently beaten them to it. Yellow tape crisscrossed the scene in excess, barring gawkers from getting in, evidence getting out, and all forms of designated law enforcement began to swarm to the junk pile like roaches. The snapshots didn't cease.

"Vic's name is Ayumi Walker." This was Esposito's brand of 'hello,' having walked up to meet author and muse as they arrived on the core of the commotion. He and Ryan had avoided the traffic on Broadway and beaten them by a good five minutes; a fact both knew better than to point out to Beckett. For all they knew, each longer route she took in the silence of her own car was just another excuse that she desperately needed to clear her head before the scene. As for Castle, the only issue he faced was catching a cab in New York. It was a miracle they'd even arrived together. "Twenty-six. Seems like somebody took 'er out with the trash." Having relayed all this to his colleague, he sent a greeting nod Castle's way. Distracted by the fracas, the writer returned it.

Detective Beckett's watchful eyes roved in a circuit around the perimeter before her long neck craned back, allowing her to take in the multiple stories of the building above her. _So we won't rule out a fall, not without… _In fact, she could amend that right now. Without moving her gaze, she asked Esposito, "Do we have a C.O.D?"

"Sure do. Lanie's got the rundown, but the jist is: B.F.T. to the back of the head."

_Lanie's _got the rundown. In her ever-expanding mental file cabinet, Beckett made a note to pick at the significance of that statement later on, his sheer unawareness of the subtext almost bringing a grin across her lips. Almost. Murder deserved respect, and colleague-ribbing had its own place too.

For those first few seconds she'd almost forgotten she had Castle in tow.

Clearly, that wasn't going to last. Contemplatively, the novelist's scruffy head turned in all directions from his place flanking Beckett, absorbing every little thing about the scene that could still fit in his imagination-filled head. The second he heard the cause of death, his face adopted an odd mix of confusion and disappointment, facing Esposito. "Blunt force trauma?" The male detective nodded to confirm the acronym. "Isn't that kind of - pardon the pun - done-to-death?"

Really, when had Beckett had a reason to roll her eyes _before_ Castle came along? It was getting to the point where she didn't remember those days. "I don't think our killer's biggest concern was being unorthodox, Castle." Post-dry reprimand, she moved around the men, going closer to the pool of drying blood that so many would shy away from, crouching next to the layed-out body, and the white sheet and M.E. that came with it.

"Hey girl." Doctor Parish took a moment out of her steady work to shoot a little smile at her best friend.

"Hi Lanie." Kate's eyes were locked fast on the still face of the young woman, so it was only natural that the next words out of her mouth were: "What do we know about her?"

"We know she put up a hell of a fight," the M.E. said appreciatively, raising her eyebrows and raising the hem of Walker's tank top with her pen. A mottle of purple-black bruises covered her skin. "These are relatively fresh: I'd say within fifteen minutes pre-mortem."

"Fifteen…so the person who gave her this could be entirely different from our killer."

"Could be," Lanie agreed, "but I think before you start with any speculation, you might want to get a look at the murder weapon."

_That_ sent Beckett's eyebrows northward. "They found the murder weapon?"

Lanie nodded. "Dumpster around the corner," a voice confirmed, but it wasn't hers. The fact that it was male and heading towards them was the first clue. Beckett looked up in time for Ryan, gloved and holding a dent-twisted metal rod, to appear beside her, and she stood to meet him, taking it carefully as her eyes went to his.

"What is it?"

"Hang on…" Castle had that tone again. Beckett knew that tone, and she'd decided since day one that it got on her last good nerve almost every time. The mystery writer had made it a habit to always carry a pair of evidence gloves in his pocket, and he pulled one on in a hurry, taking it from Beckett's hands almost as soon as it'd left Ryan's.

"Castle…" she warned.

"No, no, I know what this is."

"Like the time you 'knew' that the ex-wife killed her husband to open a patisserie in Nevada?" Ryan cracked.

"That doesn't count; my blood sugar was all screwy…" A rather quick comeback for being so distracted…he turned the crooked, bloody shaft over in his hands, studying the damaged handle of the object as if frantically looking for something.

It was frantically chiseling Beckett's patience. "_What_, Castle…"

"Ah!" Satisfied, he pointed to the end eighth-inch of the carved wood handle, where a rim of gold paint was still clearly visible. "See? I'm right."

"About _what_?"

"This. It's from Spencer & Rourke."

Ryan's face went processive. "Spencer & Rourke…the department store?"

For the record, he _would_ be the one to know that. Castle let it go. "_Thee_ department store. It's one of those…'there-for-your-convenience' top-hook-reacher thingies. They use this kind exclusively."

"How can you be sure?"

Writer-boy pulled an 'oh, _come on_' face. "I'm sorry: I live with two women, and the one who raised me practically funded at _least_ three of Stella McCartney's gold-plated swimming pools by herself. You _really_ want to bet that I don't know my way around Manhattan retailers?"

Point taken. Ryan raised his palms by way of a 'whatever you say,' then one of the CSU guys called his name, and he nodded, taking his leave from them. Almost immediately he was replaced by Esposito - they seemed to trade off - and Beckett turned, walking around the body, arms folded, 'examination face' on.

"So, get this," Esposito started. "One of the uniforms recognized the murder weapon, so I just got off a confirmation call. It's from - "

"Spencer & Rourke," Castle and Beckett said, almost in unison. Beckett _hated_ that.

Esposito blinked, his eyebrows knitting a bit. "…Yeah…okay, so, you two. Psychic again. Awesome." Was so not even going to ask. He got a couple looks for his dryness there, but they'd have been dumb not to see it coming. Served them right for saying the same thing at the same time.

"Have them dust it for prints," Beckett ordered. "And I want a full list of all the S&R employees. If Ms. Walker was one of them there could have been a beef with a coworker."

"Whatever happened to 'love your neighbor?'" Castle deadpanned.

"Also, get some of the guys over here to dust the furniture…I know it's a long shot but _someone_ had to have hidden her like this; they might have left something."

"No-go," Esposito announced, shaking his head once. "They already did. Nada. Said it was too public; there must be a _hundred_ sets of prints on everything. Might as well try and find a needle in a haystack."

Castle raised his eyebrows. "Or a good parking spot in Soho," he supplied.

Glancing across the body at her medical friend, Beckett asked, "Lanie, can you pinpoint time of death yet?"

"Had to be somewhere between eleven last night and one this morning, if body temp doesn't lie. And if it does, lividity doesn't."

"So the store was closed," Beckett concluded. "She wasn't killed there, not with security locks like any respectable business has anymore."

"Not to mention the alarm timers. And closed-circuit cameras," Castle added.

"But why would someone just have one of these lyin' around?" Esposito noted, nodding at the hook in Castle's hands.

"Couldn't be that hard to steal one; they're not tagged like merchandise." As soon as the theory came from Lanie's lips, she remembered why she avoided chipping in pitches with the detectives, feeling the eyes burning a hole in her head that meant she's just woken the banter monster.

Contrary to that thought process, all Esposito sounded was amused. "Didn't peg you for a 'bourgeois retail' girl, Doc."

The petite doctor's eyes rolled full circle. "Then maybe you shouldn't peg me as _anything_. Now if you'll excuse me, this is _my_ dead body? Step back, Denzel."

He took that as a behavioral reference. "I wasn't acting."

"I know, that was more of a physical description." Esposito grinned at that. Loudly. Without looking up or pausing, Lanie added, "And wipe the smug off your face before I hurt you."

Yep, _that_ was as close as they were gonna get to flirting today.

Castle leaned in to Beckett, suffocating giddiness. He whispered discreetly. "Have we bet on them yet?"

But, as was only natural, ignoring all of this was Kate's Olympic sport. Only one person on this scene had held her full attention from the start.

The late Ayumi Walker. Unavenged.

Pivoting on the toe of her black heeled boot, she found Esposito. "Who reported this?"

The other detective nodded a ways down, at two shaken-looking ragamuffins wrapped in emergency blankets. "The two kids who found the body. Nick Bailey and CeeCee Ward. Said they were just tryin' to save a few bucks when our vic fell out."

Beckett's decision was made without hesitation. "Bring 'em in," she instructed, turning to go. "As witnesses, they're all we've got."

_And if there are more out there, here's hoping we find them,_ she added silently.

It didn't take any prompting for Castle to follow on in the detective's cherry-scented wake. Like usual, he'd been noting her every move.

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"_But it's much too strong to let it go now… We meet ev'ry day at the same café, six-thirty and no one knows she'll be there_…"

She exhaled heavily. She let her eyes roll back and massaged her temples and tried to block it out. Still, Detective Beckett was one step away from jamming her head through the elevator wall.

"_Holding hands, making all kinds of plans…while the jukebox plays our favorite song_…"

Seriously. He _had_ to be done now, right? He was going to get the hint and shut up? If she had to hear one more breathy, showtune-y second of…

Nope, he was taking a deep breath for the chorus, making his Vegas entertainer face. "_Me and Mrs. Jo_ - "

_That_ was it. "_Castle_!"

The man flinched. Actually flinched. It was kind of satisfying. When he looked at her, he looked kind of like she'd just pressed the button on his shock collar - something she often wished she actually _had_, by the way. "What?"

"Can you _not_. _Sing_. In the _elevator_. _Thank_ you."

"…Where _can_ I sing?"

"Nowhere."

"Fine." Castle faced straight forward, his hands folded in front of him, but he still had to get the last word. "But I wouldn't have to if you guys piped some elevator music in here."

"We like quiet," Beckett said brusquely.

"Yes." Just as the lift emitted its _ping_ing noise and the doors began to grind open, he looked at her, waggling his eyebrows. "So I've noticed."

…_God._ She wanted to strangle him. She really did.

Beckett power-strode out of the elevator and made a beeline for her desk, stacked heels clacking against the finished floor, hair swishing back slightly as she walked, not bothering to turn back and see if Castle was about to pop up beside her at any second. It wouldn't surprise her…but as it happened, he didn't _have_ to. Halfway to her desk, another figure fell in step with her, and she barely had to glance to know who it was.

"What've you got for me, Detective?"

Keeping stride, Beckett handed over the folder she'd carried up, hot off the printer. "Ayumi Walker, twenty-six, found ditched in a poor man's sidewalk sale, B.F.T. to the head."

Captain Montgomery turned the folder over in his hands as he scanned it and gave a sympathetic cluck. "How cold can people be."

"Oh, pretty frigid, sir."

"Any leads?"

"Ryan and Esposito are bringing the two that found the body in for questioning; other than that, we're running down employee records to see who might've had the easiest access to the murder weapon."

The captain handed the pages back and nodded at his star detective before taking the next exit toward the offices. "See to it."

"Yes sir." No sooner did Montgomery depart her right peripheral than Castle re-inhabited her left, having tailed them the whole way. "Let me ask you something," she said seamlessly, "did it ever occur to you to _not_ to stalk other people's conversations?"

"Novelist's habit," he quipped back, not missing a beat. "Besides, therein lies the definition of 'shadowing.' You're supposed to poke around people's mail, listen in on their phone calls…hey, haven't we had this conversation before?"

_Now_ she whirled on him, unable to beat back the playful smirk from her face, stopping him in his tracks with a folder to the chest. "Why, Castle? Repeating yourself getting annoying?"

He grinned too; that big, crooked, oafish grin, like a thing you busted out for special occasions. "Oh, _I_ see, _I_ get it, that's supposed to be a _hint_, isn't it. You're funny, Detective."

"_I_ thought so. And there's a point in there too." Beckett continued her walk, making deskside pit-stop only long enough to deposit the file and take a sip of the lukewarm coffee that had been sitting there for the past half hour.

"Um, ew."

She set the mug down, wiping her lip with a fingertip. "Beggars can't be choosers."

"Then we really need to get you to Caffeine Addicts Anonymous."

"I've got a better idea." Facing him for a moment, Beckett's eyes hinted across the bullpen. "How about we talk to our conveniently-placed couple and you stop inputting on my coffee habits."

Castle caught the amused - or maybe just amusing - undertone in the detective's voice, and his eyes followed her back as she walked toward the interrogation room, his feet copying her footsteps moments later. "Sounds like a plan. But no promises about the second part."

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"Mr. Bailey. Ms. Ward."

Given the circumstances, it was decided to question the twenty-four-year-old scavengers as a couple, and from where Detective Beckett was standing, they looked a lot more like a concern of the Narcotics floor than Homicide. Then again. She wasn't naïve enough to think the two couldn't be connected.

She could also be wrong. But that one was less frequent.

"I'm Detective Kate Beckett." Stepping past the heavy door, she made a point to get to her seat slowly, almost wandering. Studying. Thickening the air.

It worked. "Look, whatever you cops think we done, we ain't done it," Nick blurted, sitting forward in his chair as if propelled. The way he fidgeted only solidified Kate's guess.

"Wow. That's a little defensive," Castle noted, walking around her and taking his usual seat, hands folded. "Don't you think that's a little defensive, Detective?"

"Who _is_ this guy?" Ward asked snottily, glaring at Castle.

"This is Richard Castle, he's a consultant." After all this time that was still the most convenient word to use. Besides. Beckett was determined to keep her cool. And, more importantly, to stay in control. She sat, giving a level look to the two across from her, and she let a beat of silence fall over them before she continued. "You know, you two have a pretty heavy rap sheet for so little time. Most of the charges were theft, two of them possession…"

"So?"

In her head, Beckett marked Nick Bailey as 'impatient.' They were going to have that in common today. "_So_, I'm having a little _trouble_ believing that your involvement in this starts and ends with finding her body."

It was CeeCee who sat forward now, her raccoon-y, mascara-caked eyes as wide as saucers. "We didn't kill nobody! Are you serious?"

"Yeah, she pretty much always is," Castle threw in offhandedly.

…_Not always, Castle._ Kate leaned across the table, folding her hands in front of her. Everything from her posture to her game face radiated 'don't screw with me.' Very clearly. "Then tell me what you know."

Across from her, arms folded. She received stares only, and radio silence.

It wouldn't stop her. "Look," she said evenly. "I'm a homicide cop. I don't care about your history of theft and if you're using, that's between you and your dealer. Right or wrong, I don't have the power to put you away for that. That's not what _I'm_ here for, and that's not what _you're_ here for. Right now, we're all here because I _know_ you know more than you're saying about Ayumi Walker." The detective waited, watching as her witnesses absorbed that like misguided sponges. Then: "…Are you ready to talk?"

Somehow they got the feeling that there wasn't a second option. For the thousandth time, Castle was taking mental notes.

CeeCee was the first to speak, after sighing so heavily that the actor's studio would be pounding on her door, if she had one. "We didn't know 'er. Didn't even know 'er _name_ or nothin' right? We just saw 'er sometimes back when - "

"Hypothetically…"

" - back when we used to…run the S&R once in a while."

"We didn't even know the chick was _dead_ until we find all this free stuff and then _bam_, there's a prize inside."

"You two used to shoplift at Spencer & Rourke," Castle confirmed.

"Yeah, maybe, so what?"

Now Nick Bailey was in another category in Beckett's head: 'ignorant.' Still, as unlikely as it was, he'd just breathed life into her theory from half an hour ago. "Ms. Walker was an employee?"

"_Whatever_ 'er name is, yeah."

"When was the last time you scored there?"

"Dunno. 'Bout…two weeks ago? Nothin' major, couple necklaces, crap like that, make a quick buck."

"And you definitely recognize Ayumi Walker."

"He just _told_ you, she worked there." Come to think of it, CeeCee Ward was pretty high on the detective's 'impatient' list too.

Castle's silence in the last few seconds came to an end, and you could tell what came out of his mouth had something to do with a brand new theory, ridiculous or otherwise. "Did Ayumi ever _catch_ you two? Press the little alarm button, turn you over to the manager…?"

_Motive_, thought Kate. _He's looking for motive._

They wouldn't find any, not from these two. "No," Nick huffed immediately. "'Sides, manager there's one scary mutha. He's the kind'a guy you wouldn't wanna tick off on the wrong day."

Ignoring the fact that Castle and Beckett were both leaning forward now, eyes widened, CeeCee seemed all too ready to chime in. "Oh, yeah, the last time we went by, we go in and all we see's that chick just yelling at this tall skinny guy, but dangerous, y'know? And he's yellin' back, sayin' all this 'I should fire you right now' crap. Me and Nicky, we didn't even go in, we got outta there."

Castle looked at Beckett. Beckett looked at Castle.

Houston, we have a lead.

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"Eduardo Vidal."

Esposito came to a stop in Beckett's path, then turned and followed her on it once the freshly-faxed sheet had traded hands.

"What do we know?"

"Get this. The guy's a former illegal. Turned himself around in the nineties, did the corporate ladder, then got promoted to store manager at Spence & Ro a couple years ago."

"And this address is current?"

"Sure is."

Castle couldn't help but look giddy. This was always the exciting part.

"Grab Ryan and follow us there," Beckett instructed. "Time to chat with Mr. Vidal about his 'employee policy.'"

With a nod, Esposito was gone, and Castle reclaimed his place just as the elevator doors began to close. "If I had to guess," he commented, "I'd say it's pretty strictly enforced."

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**And, cue the little "duh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-**_**nuh**_**!" with the title and the nifty pen. XD I know it's not the most **_**shocking**_** pre-opening-credits bit, but the case epicness will come later: and TRUST me, I've got plenty of it planned. ;D Right now I just wanted to include some fun moments with all our favorite cast members, so I'm hoping that came through. **

**Every time I make promises about the post date of the next chapter, I end up failing miserably, so, I won't. But it shouldn't be long. **

**ALSO. I say this on every story, so here it is: if anyone 14 and over is interested in joining a Castle roleplaying forum, check out the bolded paragraph in my profile. Thank you. ^^**

**SO! This is a new way of doing this for me, so I hope you guys liked it - I LOVE knowing what you liked, specifically, so PLEASE take a minute and review; reviews make my day. ^^ Thanks everyone! Next chapter is in progress. **

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	2. Digging

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**Aaaaand we're back from our first commercial break! So go on, don't let me stop you, just picture the credits running along under the screen and be grateful the Allstate guy stopped talking…XD And thank you guys all so much for the awesome reviews! *hugs you all* Tried to make this one inciting/exciting, so it was exciting to write. Hope it lives up. ;)**

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West Seventy-Second Street. Two unmarked police cars carved their way through late-evening traffic, running full lights, but no sirens. The former provided open road; the latter would be an advertisement they could ill afford. Approaching Central Park West, both screeched to a stop, and four doors bolted open, two trunks popping to retrieve four vests.

All four were affixed. Three guns were unlocked and loaded. Three ran into the building. One followed.

Police. Police. Police. Writer.

The elevator was too slow, and it would have waylaid them. The three detectives pounded up the service stairs, Castle copying their every footstep. Their goal was the fourth floor. Reaching it was of little effort, and little time.

The strike team ran in silence, filtering single-file down the hallway, a dense fog of cigar smoke and incense blurring the lights overhead to further darken the night. No exchange of words was necessary for this act…done a thousand times before, and never quite familiar enough.

Never predictable.

Detective Beckett held the lead. And then the apartment door was right under them. "Stack 'em up," she whispered, out of breath, but it was pure habit. The instant she'd come to a stop, Esposito had already dropped to his knee at her feet, readying the sights on the assault rifle. Ryan spun out and flattened his back against the other side of the door, gun gauntleted, nodding that he was ready.

For his part, Castle did something totally rare. He stayed out of the way.

"Police!" Beckett called out, directing her voice through the bolted door. "Eduardo Vidal, N.Y.P.D!" Sending a fist sideways, she pounded on it; once, twice, three times in rapid succession. "Open the door!"

No answer. Only a shuffle of movement from inside.

Not wasting a second, Beckett's glance went to the boys. "On three," she whispered. Rather than speak the numbers, she let each of her three measured nods do the talking, and on the third, Ryan whirled out from the wall, brought up a knee, and landed his foot squarely beside the brass doorknob. The internal locking mechanism shattered, and with a _bang_ the door flew open, slamming hard into the opposite wall.

The three of them flooded in, each spreading out in their own direction. Castle scurried in and followed Beckett.

Ryan had gone right. He eased up to the open bedroom door, so close to the wall that his rolled-up shirtsleeve caught a hinge, leaving a torn scrap of powder-blue hanging from the metal. Elbows locked, finger in the trigger, he spun in, eyes darting in all directions. Behind the door, the open closet, under the bed.

Nada.

From her place in the living room, Beckett heard his shout of "Clear!" as clear as day. She was still rigid, hurrying and yet taking her time, inching around everything that blocked her vision, prepared to use it as cover if she had to.

Esposito had swarmed left. His rifle raised, butted against the shoulder of his vest, he swept into the kitchenette, taking note that the coffee there had been freshly brewed. Still hot. Passing through, he moved into the bathroom…

And found the window wide open. He was halfway through it in an instant.

"_Yo, fire escape_! _Now_!" Beckett's head snapped in the direction of the call, and in a flash, she was darting across the apartment. Ryan's eyes went just as wide, and he ran from the bedroom doorway, leaping the couch to stay on her heels. Not quite sure _what_ to do, Castle followed, wishing frantically that he had a way to stop the guy before he disappeared into late-shift foot traffic…that, or at least a video camera.

"_NYPD_! _Hold it right there_!" Esposito's holler rang from the iron girders as he climbed down in pursuit, but so did the clanging of leather shoes on metal, two levels below.

Beckett leaned her whole torso out the open window, got a view of the fleeing Vidal's head and shoulders, and took two potshots at his heels, both of which missed, their target flashing too quickly. "Ryan, cover the front!" she shouted over her shoulder, and didn't have to turn to hear him stop on a dime and bolt the other way behind her, out the apartment door and down to cut off Vidal's escape. Beckett adapted her aim. "_Stop_! _Freeze_!"

She pulled herself past the windowsill and held a strong footing on the iron-bar landing, but between Vidal's speed and distance on them and the risk of hitting Esposito, who'd just hit the ground running, there was little to no hope of collaring him any time soon…

Until his running path took him right underneath his own living room window. From which a ceramic globe bookend hurtled to earth, smashing like a flash bomb barely a foot in front of Eduardo Vidal's feet.

The five seconds Vidal spent in ducking and flinching back to dodge shrapnel were five seconds he couldn't afford. He felt a crashing force at the back of his calves and fell painfully to the sidewalk, barely getting used to the press of cement against his cheek before a knee landed hard in the middle of his back, his arms being bent to receive handcuffs. His pained wince came simultaneously with the _click_.

"Don't think we were quite done back there," huffed Esposito. "Eduardo Vidal. You have the right to remain silent."

Washed with momentary relief, Beckett caught her teammate's eye as he twisted to look up at her, sending a nod before stepping back through the open window. She left herself breathe normally for the few moments it took to meander back into Vidal's living room…

And that was when she found Castle and shoved him by his vest against the wall.

"You do realize that if that had hit his head, we'd be looking at another _body_, _right_? What were you thinking!"

The writer's eyes were wide, partially at the '_tell me you saw that_!' of his success and partially in surprise at her reaction. Not that he should've been so surprised. "Hey! I-I stopped him, didn't I?"

"You don't have the _authority_ to stop him, Castle!" she reminded…not that it ever got _through_ to him when she said that.

Now he was smirking airily. "Well, good thing I just happen to be an un-biased, klutzy houseguest who just happened to be passing by the window when it slipped from my hand. Besides, I aimed ahead of him." Then the digression started, the topic getting lost in Castle's head. "Personally, that thing was asking for it - how could a guy with Vidal's money spend any of it on something as tacky as knickknack-y bookends? Guess money really can't buy you taste, not that that's any new news…"

Beckett sighed as Castle trailed off, surveying the rest of the apartment's décor as if _that_ was the real subject here. It was an age-old debate anyway, and she knew when to give up. "Yeah, well, next time you decide to throw something out the window, why don't you try your manuscript first," she deadpanned.

"Ooh. You sting me, Detective."

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It wasn't a long process to prepare their chief suspect for interrogation. Within the hour, Beckett was stepping out of the elevator after a walkthrough of Vidal's apartment - a job CSU would be continuing until they could confirm or disprove it as the crime scene for absolute sure - and Ryan was there, handing her off a coffee.

Castle tried not to look intruded-on.

"Uniforms brought Vidal into the interrogation room about fifteen ago. Esposito's waiting behind the mirror; figured you'd want in on it," the detective reported, matching Beckett's stride. "Guy says he doesn't need a lawyer."

"Because he's confessing?"

"Because he didn't _do_ it. So he says."

"Yeah, well…" Beckett stopped there, laying a hand on the knob of the door. "That's for _me_ to find out. Thanks."

"No sweat."

As Ryan broke away to head elsewhere, Castle stepped into Beckett's line of vision before she could open the door. It didn't mean to come out, but he couldn't help himself. "_He's_ getting you coffee now? Since when?"

His muse blinked a few times as if trying to figure that out. "Since…_I_ don't know," she said, confused, "it's thoughtful. Why does it matter?"

"Well, it…" Stammer time. "I guess it doesn't _matter_, per se, I was just wondering…I…didn't notice it as a habit before."

"Uh _huh_." _Now_ she was starting to get it. Beckett folded her arms and sized up her opposition. "Tell you what, Castle, you can pee all over your territory somewhere else, some other time, okay?"

He raised his palms. "Hey, I wasn't - "

"Right. _Sure_ you weren't." She almost had to chuckle to herself. Almost. Poor Ryan - unless he knew what he was doing; she wouldn't put it past him. "If you're coming in, come on," she advised, and down went the door handle.

Open went the door. There was Esposito, arms crossed, looking through the mirror. "Hey," he said. "You ready?"

"As ever." With one nod, setting her coffee cup beside one of the camera monitors, Beckett headed for the second door, pulling it open.

The moment she stepped in, she was greeted with the sense that Eduardo Vidal was a dangerous man. Just like Nick Bailey had said. He was scared, almost frantically so. And it was all being channeled into an unstable anger. That much was obvious before the man even spoke so much as a word.

It didn't last long that way. "I did not kill that woman!" Eduardo's accent was thick, his volume higher than necessary.

The door closing softly after Castle, Beckett took the chair across from their suspect, folded her hands, leaned forward, and didn't waste any time. "Then why did you run."

"Because I knew I would be accused!" The wiry entrepreneur's voice still resonated through the room.

"You _really_ think _running_ is the way you're gonna convince us of that?" Beckett asked harshly. He didn't scare her. She needed to _do_ the scaring here.

Vidal poked an index finger hard into the table. "I did not say I expected to be charged with _murder_ - only _after_ do they tell me I am a suspect. I did not know Ayumi was _dead_! I said I expected to be _accused_."

Looming behind her right shoulder, all friendliness hidden behind impatiently crossed arms and the unflappable mask of 'Ice-posito', Esposito wasn't impressed either. _Or_ frightened. "Accused of _what_?"

Switching his best mafia-like glare between the two detectives - especially the one who'd caused his harsh landing earlier, plus Castle, just out of suspicion - Eduardo wasn't talking. He shook his head, flashing the faint ghosts of scars on the back left side of his neck. "I have done _nothing_. They _frame_ me. I cannot lose what I have built _now_."

Beckett's eyes and tone were both razor-sharp, boring into him, her face mere inches from his across the table. "Then _talk_ - because let me tell you something Mr. Vidal, you're sure as hell going to be losing a lot if you're on your way to the island for _murder_."

Quirking an eyebrow, Castle threw in, "I highly doubt they'll let you bring that pool table to your holding cell. Or tacky bookends."

"You do not _understand_!" Vidal roared. Wrong time to chime in. Eduardo was cracking fast, neck vein bulging with his wild black eyes. "Ayumi…era como si ella era mi hija. Yo no haría daño a ella!"

No one had to look at him expectantly - Esposito was the one who had anticipated this in the first place. "He says she was like a daughter to him and he wouldn't hurt her," he informed the other two, leaning forward, bracing himself on the corner edge of the table, flicking a glance between his teammates and Vidal.

Vidal wasn't pausing now. The dam had broken, and out came the flood. "Corrí debido a mi negocio. Mi tienda no ha estado ganando bastante dinero. El presidente de compañía se haría furioso si él fuera consciente de este; él podría sustituirme inmediatamente."

"He says he ran because of the store. They're behind in cash and if the company president knew about it he'd be furious, maybe even fire him on the spot."

"Tenemos a inversionistas, muchas personas ricas que han contribuido a nosotros. Para salvar nuestra tienda, algunos de ellos…" At this point, Vidal exhaled heavily, tipping down his head to rake both hands through his slicked black hair, as if to avoid hitting something. Or someone. "Ellos han…obtenido el dinero…_ilegalmente_."

Now Esposito's eyes went narrower as he processed, leaning harder on the table to lessen the gap another inch. "Ilegalmente... Quién consigue el dinero ilegalmente? Cómo?" Beckett's and Castle's curious eyes darted to each other, the former realizing this was no longer her interrogation, the latter wishing he had some sort of 'Certain British Spy' in-ear translating device.

"Los inversionistas, los inversionistas de tienda, aquellos que nos han dado donaciones en el pasado! Malversaciones. Fraude. Les digo que no quiero ninguna parte de este, pero ellos no me escuchan." No matter the language, impatience, frustration were universal. Vidal had it in spades, adding to the fear and anger.

"Esposito…" Beckett prodded.

"The store's got investors: rich, high-profile, people who've donated before…thinks some of 'em are resorting to embezzling and fraud to keep it from bottoming out," he explained quickly, not bothering to fully look back over his shoulder. "He says he tried to contact 'em, tell them he didn't want any part of it, but they didn't listen, kept it up."

"Committee anonymity," Beckett realized, "no one's ever required to meet or contact at all."

"Who's _that_ dedicated to a single department store? Risking jail to keep it in business?" Castle wanted to know.

"People can be shallow," Beckett replied, dryly and obviously. Possibly a little hint in there too. But, to Vidal, she added, "What does this have to do with Ms. Walker?"

"If _anything_…"

"Cómo es significativo a la víctima, tu empleado?" Esposito covered, for good measure.

Vidal shook his head, his anger shaking him. Stress was causing him to treat the language barrier as a grey area, and he stressed every word of his next assurance. "_She did not agree with what they're doing_. Ayumi era uno de nuestros representantes de empleado en una reunión de la junta directiva reciente. Cuando era terminado, ella me dijo que ella quiso llamar la policía."

"Ayumi served as employee representative at a recent board meeting, and once she caught wind of what was goin' on, she said she wanted to call the cops."

Grateful for Esposito's fast fluency, Beckett took the opportunity to interject, "Is that why you and she were fighting?"

"Good grammar," Castle stage-whispered. Clearly still un-housebroken.

He went ignored, and Vidal was as insistent as ever. "I told her _very strongly_ it was a _bad idea_! I told her that to start a…a…" He was grasping for the correct English idiom. "To start a _witch hunt _against such important investors would mean I would have to fire her if anyone knew! Before the company president could learn of it!"

"The threats Nick Bailey heard," Beckett realized under her breath.

Now Castle leaned forward, a quizzical look in his eye, offering his first useful contribution to this conversation. "Did any of these investors _know_ that she was against their little misadventures in financing?"

He seemed to struggle, finally giving only a conflicted "…I don't know."

"Mr. Vidal…" Beckett pressed.

"There is no way of knowing for sure!" he erupted. "I wouldn't know! Only Ayumi would know. As I said, they do not deal with me. For all I know, they keep the store in business only to please their friends; they appear benevolent, charitable, and no one gets caught, that is all they care about. Me, I cannot risk to lose everything I have worked for because of that. Yet even if somehow I turn them in, there is no doubt they would tell the courts I was involved from the beginning - and who do you think the courts are going to believe? The only way I do not lose is to stay quiet. Even then, nothing is permanent."

Well. At least from where _Castle_ was sitting, suddenly the 'running from arrest' thing was a wee bit more understandable.

Esposito hung his head and shook it exhaustedly, but he hadn't begun to know exhaustion. He wouldn't really know until the answer arrived to Beckett's next question.

"Mr. Vidal," she began measuredly. "These investors. I need names. Who are they."

It was only then that the bags under the darkened man's coal eyes were noticeable, even under the fluorescent lights. For once, his gravelly voice was a rasp, not a shout.

"No one could remember so many. There are hundreds."

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"_Hundreds_?" Ryan looked sick already. As in, kind of green, and in a 'nothing-to-do-with-Ireland' way.

Beckett sighed as she passed out folders from the armful she'd carried, all obtained via search warrant, all containing the names and information of Spencer & Rourke's finest fans - most of whom could get into a fully-packed five-star restaurant on surname alone. "Yep. According to our buddy Eduardo Vidal, none of them ever contact him directly. All the money that they donate goes straight to the store's account at the Federal Reserve Bank, and he only figured out that something shady had to be going on when the bank called: three separate donation checks to his store bounced in the same month. He talked his way out of it and the bank let it go - "

"Nothing like customer favor…"

" - but the checks were signed off on by the company and couldn't be traced to any specific person; only that they weren't using their own money, let's put it that way. When he wrote to the committee to tell them to back off, radio silence."

Castle picked up the story, everything they'd learned from the end of the interview. "Good Ol' Eduardo cried odd duck at the last board meeting, and was more or less told it was impossible…and to basically sweep it under the rug or kiss his job goodbye. Which…got passed down to Ayumi."

"Sounds like she shoulda kissed more than her _job_ goodbye," Esposito pointed out.

"We don't know who or how many were sending the bad checks, but if any of them knew, it'd only have taken _one_ to kill Walker for poking around in the wrong affairs," Beckett concluded, taking a sizable stack for herself after delegating the rest among the boys, Castle excluded. "So, we run background on _all_ of them. Something's bound to turn up. If they've got a history of violence, flag 'em and tag 'em."

Ryan looked over the 'Q through Z' folder he'd been handed, and needless to say, still wasn't looking particularly thrilled. "I'm guessing Vidal had an alibi for the murder, then," he pitched, somewhere between bitter and dryly amused at the irony.

"Brick-wall solid," Beckett admitted. She, too, hated Square One.

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Half an hour after tiredly returning through the door of his apartment, Rick Castle was doing something his tax guy usually had to bribe him with write-offs to do. He was staring at his open financial dossier, held aloft above his face by two elbow-locked arms as he lay face-up on the sofa.

At least, until he was snuck up on.

"Being sued at last?"

"Jeez!" He was a good three inches away from the open book falling onto his face, avoided by a last-minute save, thank you very much. Rick swung his legs over and sat up, casting a quick little glare up at the intruder. "You know, you're awfully ninja-like for a woman who usually announces to the _world_ when she enters a room."

"I know," Martha breezed, but then she nodded at the dossier, making it clear she was getting her question answered, or at least placated for the time being.

Rick sighed. "No - it's not _me_ being sued, or rather nobody's being sued at _all_…it's just…_how_ do you get away with donating _hundreds of thousands_ of dollars of embezzled money to the struggling outlet of a major corporation?"

"Don't ask _me_, darling, I've never tried."

"I _know_ that, it's just…look." Castle picked up the leather-bound ledger and tapped the middle of the right-hand page. "When _I_ do _my_ banking, I have to sign every check. It says it right here, there's the record."

"Well, you are _mortal_…"

"But the checks the company was receiving weren't _signed_, they were _stamped_. By the president of the company. And yet _no_ company president, sleazy or not, would take the risk of bringing down the whole _chain_ of stores just to save _one_; he'd probably rather put a '45 in his mouth."

"Mm, just like in that awful movie with…" Martha swirled her wine a bit in its decanter. "Oh, what's his name, I can't remember."

"So I'm thinking…whoever stamped those checks, it obviously wasn't the guy who's _supposed_ to be stamping the checks. It was a forgery. From somebody who didn't know the checks were about to fall through…and from somebody who's protecting themselves or somebody else. Somebody with a really good reason to want the store to stay open…" It was about there that Castle's newly-ignited theory candle ran out of wax. He looked up at his mother, puzzling over the final blanks.

"Don't look at _me_, kiddo," was all she said. "You're the author."

And on a _shopping_ question of all things. He knew he should have asked her before drinks.

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"So…here's what I think. Ready?"

"No."

"Beckett…"

"Castle…"

"You'll like it. I swear. Or…well. You'll…_something_, anyway. Point is, it's not a crazy theory, I'm serious."

If anyone were to ask Beckett at right about this moment, she'd have said that the elevator ride from the doors of the O.C.M.E. to Lanie's underground floor was way, way too long. Still, crossing her arms, she exhaled, "Fine. What do _you_ think - no no: how would you _write_ it?"

"Well." Castle was silent for a few beats, building up the suspense, and then: "Our killer has six personalities."

Her head flicked over to stare at him. "And you don't call _that_ a crazy theory."

"Think about it. This is a person who's smart enough to forge the company president's seal of approval, but dumb enough to send un-secured stolen cash. He's - "

"Or _she's_ - "

"_He or she _is smart enough to make sure they can't be traced for _financial_ fraud, but then goes and commits _murder_."

"_Possibly_ commits murder. It could still be an unrelated crime."

"Yes, but you and I both know that the likelihood of that is lower than Cher ever having a hit again."

"Besides, that's only four personalities. What're the other two?"

"Oh: I thought it was obvious. Jekyll and Hyde."

She couldn't decide between smirking and rolling her eyes yet again, so Beckett didn't: instead she walked out of the open elevator and pushed through the double-doors to Lanie's autopsy room, this time making sure Castle was following, as if she had to. You never knew when he'd start touching things around here.

"Well well well, look who's early," Lanie noted. For someone who'd called twenty minutes ago to say she had the basic autopsy results, she was oddly engrossed in all things stitch and scalpel.

"Interrupting?"

"Honey, _please_. I _ask_ for interruption down here."

"She has a point," Castle agreed.

"Well, at this point we've got a few hundred suspects and no other leads, so anything you've got, bring it on, I could use it about now." Beckett came around the table to stand near Lanie, looking down on the body, as if whatever she heard could be applied toward a conclusion that much quicker with a visual aid.

"When you put it like that." The M.E. took the hint and got down to business. "Cause of death was that crack to the head, like I thought, and there was nothing funky going on with any of her tests, etcetera etcetera… But. Those bruises on her arms and torso?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, to the untrained eye, with the way the bruises bloomed, they look like your average abrasions. _But_, once you get 'em under the _microscope_…" To demonstrate, Lanie swiveled the lens around on its mechanical arm, eyes going from the detective to it and back again, smiling slightly at her find. "How would you describe that shape?"

"Kind of…oblong?"

"Exactly. If I were you I'd drop that theory about your abuser and your killer bein' two different people. My year's salary says these marks were made by the same weapon that left that nasty C.O.D. wound on her head."

She was right. It was unmistakable. "So before he got even, he gave her a beating she'd never forget," Beckett murmured, eyes lingering on the body for a few more moments.

"Yep. I've got one more routine checkup and a fingerprint sweep to run, but that's the jist of it."

Straightening up, Kate sent a light smile toward the doctor as she turned to go. "Thanks Lanie."

"Yep, anytime."

Castle exchanged a friendly wave with the good doctor as he went to follow…but, by the time the detective reached the door, she paused, turning halfway back around, a curious look passing across her face. Therefore he came within about six inches of plowing into her: luckily nobody noticed his recovery.

"…Hey, Lanie?"

The M.E. looked up, almost looking sort of surprised that they weren't gone yet. "What's up?"

Beckett pointed left, toward the supply closet. "…Did I hear…? Is…" You know what, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know. Or if she was just going crazy. "Nevermind."

Lanie shrugged. "Suit yourself."

One slightly puzzled nod, and Beckett swung through the doors, ignoring Castle's '_what did I miss?_' look with practiced skill.

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"Castle? Big Ricky Castle? Get _out_! How goes life?"

A grin spread easily over the author's face, and he gladly allowed himself to be pulled into the hearty handshake he was offered, afterward taking a good look at the fellow who'd started it. "Fletch! Good to see you buddy. It goes well…" Then he caught Beckett's eye, of course, and cleared his throat, making a small amendment. "Well. Not for…an…unfortunate…" Better to let that sentence combust and turn it over to the introductions. "Fletch, this is Detective Kate Beckett. We're investigating a homicide. Beckett, this is - "

"Hayden Fletcher," Kate supplied, giving 'Fletch' and only 'Fletch' a hint of a knowing smirk. The kind that might or might not have defined exactly how much Beckett knew about him already. She extended her hand for a shake, directly professional.

The first order of business, on her watch at least, was to pay a visit here: to the upscale, high-rise office of the Chairman of the Donations Board - a title that was about as official as anything you'd find on Knockoff Alley, by the way, given that the board was volunteer-based. Still, organization was paramount, and among that protected little society, if any of them held answers, it would be this man here. The one with two glass walls and enough framed certificates to tile a floor.

She received only a nod for it. "Detective," Fletcher greeted, appropriately going a bit more somber as he shook her hand. Though he couldn't resist one last joke for the afternoon: "It's hard to believe anyone's allowing _Castle_ here to be part of an _investigation_."

"_I'm_ investigating; he's…_assisting_," Beckett corrected.

"Well. Either way." The young mogul motioned behind him to the lucite desk and the two art-deco chairs perched in front of it. "Please, anything I can do to help."

"Thank you." Kate gave Fletcher a head start, motioning for Castle to wait back with her. She whispered: "I shouldn't be surprised at this point, but: you two know each other?"

"Indirectly. Like you know your eighth maternal cousin twice removed by marriage," he whispered back. "Actually we run in a few of the same 'society' circles; it's more an…acquaintanceship by reputation."

"Huh. Bully for you." The detective dropped her last bit of sarcasm behind her and completed her walk toward the chairs, pulling one out for herself before Shadow Boy could get any chivalrous ideas. "Mr. Fletcher, as the organizer of Spencer & Rourke's donation committee - "

"And a…'V.I.P. customer,' let's not forget," Hayden flashed, along with a must-have-been brilliant smile.

" - I assume you must have heard that one of the sales associates at your 'preferred location' was murdered two days ago?" Clearly, Beckett wasn't going to be charmed. Amazing that some people still had to be told that.

"…Yes. Yes, I did…horrible, that. Unfortunately I've heard about everything by now."

"Everything? Can you define 'everything' for me?"

"Well, the murder! I never encountered Ayumi _personally_, but, when I saw the police blotter in the news I just…it's something you never want to think could happen so close to your life, you know?"

Did she _ever_. "Were you also aware that at least three checks in the past month from your committee to that location were voided as fraudulent?"

Hearing that, the late-twentysomething's hazel eyes expanded. "_What_? But…but, that's impossible. All of our members undergo a validity check before we okay their money. We only assemble to give _back_ - how could…?"

"It doesn't matter _how_, Mr. Fletcher, the only thing that matters right now is _why_."

"We think it's the phony good Samaritan who caught on to Ayumi's distaste for liars and decided she knew too much," Castle chipped in.

Absorbing this new information carefully, Hayden Fletcher leaned back to the extent his leather desk chair would allow, steepling his fingers thoughtfully, studying both his guests with a controlled gaze. "I'll assist in whatever way I can, Detective, but…I've never had reason to doubt my fellow investors, until now," he finally aired. "If you're looking for a murderer…" Spreading his hands plaintively, he plainly summed up, "I wouldn't know."

Beckett made a decision then. That was all she needed to hear to know differently.

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"We know Fletcher knows more than he's saying about the checks, but we can't try to pin the murder on him, not yet."

It was the morning of the third day on this case, and, even after taking the past seven hours off to go home, catch a few winks and freshen up - under orders of course - it still frustrated Beckett that the answer hadn't hit her yet. It was hiding. And she _hated_ when they did that.

Capitan Montgomery knew all of the above without even having to confirm. "He's not cooperating?"

"Oh, he's cooperating, all right; he's just more tight-lipped than some."

"And he's got an alibi."

"On the to-be-checked list as we speak."

Roy remembered too well what hitting a wall was like. _Still_ did. So, he merely instructed her to "Keep at that list," and then, instead of picking at it any further, he nodded instead toward the alcove across the bullpen. A frail-looking woman in her mid-fifties was waiting pensively on the couch. "While you were out, vic's family finally made contact. Keiko Walker. Mother."

"Has she been…?"

"Here long? No. Maybe twenty minutes." The captain laid a brief reassuring hand on Beckett's shoulder before he took his leave. "Good luck Detective."

Not five seconds after he was gone did a voice come from behind her. "Well. It's not going to be a cake walk…get it? Cake walk, Keiko Walker…?"

Beckett let her shut eyes roll back to her brain, clenching her jaw just to avoid bodily harm - causing, not receiving - and pivoted around on her heel, a 'look' ready and waiting. "_Seriously_. _Wow_, Castle."

Having just regained his breath from jogging from the elevator, the writer beamed like a child, oblivious to scorn. "I know, right?

"How long were you waiting with that one?"

"About a minute."

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**Phew. Okay: for the record, I'm not nearly as fluent in Spanish as I'd like to be, and I've never operated a major (and majorly indebted) department store, so I'd appreciate any indiscretions forgiven. I'm trying to make this as twisty and as accurate as possible - you should see how many Google Maps tabs I've saved with NY locations XD - so I'm hoping it's coming along nicely for all of you as well.**

**Like I said in the previous chapter and will continue to say, if there's anyone (ages 14 and over) interested in joining a Castle roleplaying forum, check out the bolded paragraph in my profile. Thank you. **

**And as always, reviews absolutely make my day! I love knowing what you guys think so far and which parts you like best, so THANK YOU to those who have and please, don't stop now; click the button! ^^ **

**The next chapter's in progress: in the meantime, 'commercial break.' ;D**

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	3. Exposition

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**One small note: yes, I've noticed that the opening "two kinds of folks" sequence has been updated now. Do me a favor? Pretend it hasn't been. This story has no specific time setting: I don't want it to be relegated to season 2 just because the intro still says "Turner and Hooch" in it. XD **

**Sorry that these chapters are taking quite a bit longer now; school's back, and is therefore eating eight hours of five-sevenths of my days. XD Oh: and the song used in this installment is "King Of Anything," which I also don't own. Without further adieu…**

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"Mrs. Walker. I'm so sorry for your loss."

The aging woman seated across from her only nodded, tucking a thinning ebony strand of her silk-like hair behind a dainty-looking ear, her other hand nervously wadding a handful of off-brand tissues. There wasn't a soul in the world who would have blamed her for the fact that her voice never quite reached its true octave.

Loss was contagious that way.

"Thank you," she said softly. "Anything you can do…I'd be grateful."

Castle sat after Beckett did, in gradual degrees, keeping sympathetic, lingering eyes on Keiko Walker. For once, he wasn't studying for the purpose of including anything like this in one of his books; he was just…_watching_. There was an indescribable sadness in the now-childless woman in front of him, reason all too clear, and he couldn't help but put himself in her shoes. If anything like that had ever happened - or were _ever_ to happen - to Alexis…Rick didn't see any scenarios happening in which he _wasn't_ institutionalized, straitjacketed and drooling into a cup. Mrs. Walker here already had his respect just for maintaining basic function.

They all knew there'd been too fair a share of cases where the parents didn't seem to care _enough_. Talk about tragedy.

There was a silent lull, but Beckett was far more tactful than to push it. Instead, with space, Keiko spoke on her own after a few moments. "My Ayumi was a sweet girl. She would always…always call me, every Sunday evening, we would sometimes go to lunch in the park…it would…remind me of when she was a child…" The woman blotted under her eyes with one of the over-wrung tissues. "I don't know why anyone would…_do_ this to her."

"Our job right now is to find that out," Beckett assured quietly, "and I promise you, we will."

Again, Keiko nodded, looking as small as she undoubtedly felt.

With families like this - innocent ones, bereaved ones - Kate always felt vaguely guilty for the questions she had to ask, and the raw time in which they were needed. But it never stopped her, not at the cost of justice. "When was the last time you talked to your daughter?" she asked gently.

"About…I think, last Wednesday."

"Did she sound troubled, at all?"

"No. She seemed…content. She was happy at her job, she was enjoying her new life…"

For Castle, that was the 'talk' button. He sat forward. "Her _new_ life?"

Keiko nodded yet again. "She'd recently broken up with her boyfriend."

Now Beckett was on the same trolley. Her brow furrowed as she processed this, her eyes not leaving Mrs. Walker. "She was seeing somebody?"

"For…about six months, yes. I thought at first that he was a bit too rich for her taste…Ayumi was a simplistic girl since I can remember…but Ayumi had already made up her mind. She always knew exactly what she wanted."

"Him," Castle verified.

"_Who_?" Beckett prodded.

Mrs. Walker addressed both of them seamlessly, as if their contradicting questions were all part of a reminiscence. "For a while, yes…his name was Aaron. Aaron Bundy."

The writer marveled yet again at how quickly and discreetly Beckett had copied the name onto her notepad. "And on what terms, exactly, did the relationship end? Do you know whose idea breaking up was?"

"Ayumi's, I'm fairly sure…" Keiko was starting to get a little bit flustered, and she traded a pleading look between the two of them, aghast and ashen at the thought. "You d-don't think…you don't think he…that he…"

"Mrs. Walker," Beckett calmed. "Right now, it's just important that we check every angle. We won't know anything until we do."

The elder woman nodded. It seemed to be her default reaction in crises.

Or at least, what she hid behind. Beckett could relate.

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"So the mom's got an alibi," Esposito figured. He exhaled his entire lung content and leaned as far back as his chair would go, as if even the _thought_ of one more off-the-hook, ruled-out and otherwise eliminated suspect was going to do him in.

Fresh from seeing Mrs. Walker to the elevator, Beckett gave him a slight disapproving look as she passed, and with one bat of her hand, his feet landed with a self-redundant _thud_ on the floor. "'Desk' does not mean 'footstool,' for the eight-hundredth time; and yes."

Castle added in, "And, a _real_ one - not just the fact that you'd have needed a kayak to traverse that river she was crying."

"She says she was at work; does part-time at a flower shop, Langdon at sixty-two Reade. Run it."

"You got it." But as Esposito started to swivel back to his computer, Beckett's hand fell to his shoulder and pulled him back around, and he looked up at her curiously.

"The mom's not so much my concern. I also want you to find whatever you can on an Aaron Bundy. Mrs. Walker said that until recently he and Ayumi were in a relationship."

"So our vic was a new ex…you're thinking the usual?"

"Hate to say 'I hope so,' but I hope so," Beckett nodded.

"It's like I keep saying: there's only three real reasons to kill," Castle proclaimed, ticking off each point on a finger. "Love, money, or a cover-up. What if it was all three?"

Esposito only shook his head, and turned to do his job, but with all her tasks delegated for the moment, Beckett had time to kill, pun ignored. She decided to run with the theory. "Okay, the 'love' I get, maybe even the 'cover-up,' that could work; but the 'money?' Ayumi wasn't rich. She worked _retail_ for God's sake. _Bundy_ is rich." …Then, an 'oh, wait' look crossed her face, and she turned. "According to the mom anyway…hey Esposito, we got confirmation?"

The other detective didn't even turn from his computer screen, just lifted a hand, dryly calling back, "I'm not with Psychic Connection, be with you in a minute."

"Oh, how cool would that be if you were?" Castle lit up suddenly. "It'd be like The Mentalist, only hopefully less formulaic and predictable…that'd be such a twist for _Heat Stroke_."

Beckett blinked. "…_Heat Stroke_?"

He seemed to sense that the title wasn't getting the warmest reception. "_Sweltering Heat_?" he tried. "_Over-Heated_…_Heat Lightening_?" All the author got was a blank stare. "…No? I'll work on it."

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The hands on the clock spun in a few circles, and Beckett's patience seemed to be spinning too: off of a spool that was rapidly running out of thread. She hated being at a standstill like this. She needed answers, because she knew that Ayumi's mother wouldn't sleep at night until she had some too. As with every other case that crossed her desk, she knew that a lot better than she'd _like _to know.

There were nights when even answers didn't help. But they were a start.

The two o'clock hour was coming up, and the demise of one-thirty took Beckett's caffeine buzz with it. Just as she was getting a bit punchy, Esposito emerged from the breakroom, having just taken five for a reboot himself, while the elevator doors opened, bearing a fresh-from-Dean-&-De-Luca Castle.

Luckily, she was still engrossed in back-checking the last of her list of donators, so she paid no attention to the little curcus that followed. Esposito had two mugs in hand, sipping from one and ambling to deliver the other. As soon as Castle saw, he speed-walked across the bullpen, slid in front of Esposito and edged him out, ignoring the 'what's with you?' face he evoked. The only thing that warranted Beckett's attention was the cardboard cup placed on her desk.

"Oh." She looked up, gratefully accepting the coffee. "Thanks Castle."

It was just safer not to ask why he was beaming like a smug kid or why Esposito seemed wierded-out, right? Yeah. She thought so.

No skin off Esposito's nose: he just passed off his second cup to Ryan without missing a beat, the latter having just ninja'd up to the group.

Kevin took the mug without breaking stride, and, no warning, sat on Beckett's desk, blocking her access to her files and being just annoyingly in-the-way enough to cause her to look up at him. When she did, he was smirking like he'd just correctly predicted the Superbowl. _Oh, wonderful_. What was _with_ everyone around here?

"Off," she ordered.

Ryan was still smug. He loved having news. "Nope."

"Yes."

"Not 'till I see the look on your face when you hear _this_ one."

That did it. The temptation to hit him was _very_ quickly overridden by the hope that they'd found a lead. Beckett looked up again, eyes newly wide this time. "What?"

"Your boy Bundy? He comes complete with a résumé. Four years ago he was sentenced to a nickel at Fulton Correctional of which he only served _two_ years, since the plea he copped was at a buddy's expense."

"Typical," Castle scoffed.

"You'll never guess what the charge was."

"Make me guess and you get a bullet in the leg."

"Embezzlement and grand larceny. And now that he's 'cleaned up his act,' guess which crowd he runs with? The crowd that provided his connection to Ayumi Walker."

Ohhh, it definitely wasn't looking like a hard guess. "The charity," Beckett and Castle concluded…unfortunately for them, they did it at the same time again. Ryan was acting too mole-ish to care, but Esposito wished for a camera.

"That's right," Ryan grinned. "Name wasn't listed on any of the rosters for 'reputation purposes.' Seems like Mr. Bundy was keeping the employees in buisiness _and_ pleasure." He slid off her desk, pocketing one hand and using the other to toast with his coffee mug. "Bet you wish you'd guessed, huh."

"Well, now we know who the checks were coming from," Esposito figured.

Castle raised a conspiratory eyebrow. "Think he could be the reason why Ayumi 'checked' out?"

"We won't know until we find him," Beckett said, already standing and gathering her things. "Say you've got an address, Ry."

He felt decidedly adventurous. "Say I've got the weekend off and I might tell you."

"Address me and I might think about it."

With something between a smirk and a scowl, he handed the slip over, and followed in the wake of the other three toward the elevator…choosing to believe he didn't hear Beckett mutter a smug "So easy" on the way.

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"Hey, let me ask you something."

As usual, Castle was at the back of the line, hurrying to catch up with the Musketeer huddle that was preparing to breach the building ahead of him. How could he be expected to keep up all the time when the stupid Velcro on his 'Writer' vest was faulty? Okay, so maybe not 'faulty.' He _was_ having trouble with it. Either way, his stage-whisper earned Beckett's 'scolding' tone.

"Did it cross your mind that maybe, now's not the time?"

_No. _"What's the most of these blitzes you guys have ever done for one case?"

"Blitzes?" Esposito snorted. "That's a new one."

"Thesaurus walking."

"You'd be surpised, Castle," Beckett replied. "Now surprise me by shutting up."

"Well if you _tell_ me to then it's not a surp - "

Surprising or not, Beckett turned around in that moment and shoved one of her gloves in his mouth. Turns out, it was.

Newly silent, the group of them edged into the service stairwell of the Columbus Circle building - blocks from the crime scene, the unlikelihood of coincidence making them twice as careful. Once on the second floor, Beckett scanned the hall, then nodded toward a gold-plated doorway.

Ryan squinted to read the number. "That's the one," he said, tone hushed.

She nodded back. An urge followed to give an order or motion for a certain formation, but the detective made herself figuratively bite her tongue: the boys had already flanked the door, ready to clear her. Beckett mentally chided herself that they knew what they were doing, but it was only ever her instinct to lead talking, and that same instinct didn't want to wait to get into this apartment. So it wouldn't.

For the second time in this investigation, she pounded on the door, shouting through it. "Aaron Bundy? N.Y.P.D! Open the door!"

For the second time in this investigation: nothing. Not movement, either.

This time, Ryan wouldn't be the one acting on the signal. She wanted to do this herself. With stunning force, one swift impact from her low-heeled boot sent the varnished plywood door bashing in on itself, and again, like mission-bound fireants, they invaded the room.

Minutes passed. Each space was inspected.

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

"Clear…"

Unlike the previous two calls, Beckett's revelation that no one was home came out as more of a muttered curse. Because, from what she was observing in here? No one had been home for several _days_.

The boys confirmed exactly that, rejoining her from opposite sides. "The bed's been made, and there's no clothes in the closet or the dresser," Esposito vented.

"Yeah, and check _this_." When Ryan beckoned, Beckett followed into the high-end kitchenette. He'd pulled on a pair of rubber gloves he'd had on him, and so did Beckett before plucking up the Post-It note he held. "Says 'Wednesday, LaGuardia to Santorini National.'"

"He's going to Greece?" Beckett re-read the little sheet carefully, adding her own process to Ryan's Cliff's Notes. "Where did you find this?"

"Kitchen counter."

"This is for tonight…eleven-thirty…'bring both tickets,' it says."

Up until now, she hadn't noticed Castle's face hovering over her shoulder from behind. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of flinching: besides, she was better trained. "Sounds like he's skipping a lot more than just _town_. Who's the second ticket for?"

Beckett was too distracted by a little thing called _investigating_ to roll her eyes that time. "You're the theorizer, Castle, you tell me."

"Nope, sorry; I speculate, not mind-read."

"Huh. Had _us_ fooled."

_Funny._ Still. If there was one thing the writer had always claimed to be good at, it was snooping around. Especially in things and places that weren't his business. So, he did the only thing that would really be natural in the situation. The first thing he'd always said would provide logical information. He spotted, backtracked, found what he was looking for in the contents of the coffee table - _For a guy about to take a one-way trip, he sure leaves a lot lying around _- and discreetly started leafing through Aaron Bundy's junk mail.

For a few moments, he got away with it, too. "Beckett. Check it out." Esposito was back from the bedroom, holding up a clothes hanger with one finger of a blue-gloved hand, the other one holding open the black flap left by the parted zipper. "Empty garment bag bunched up under the bed. Only thing there, too."

The female detective's brow creased. "So, assuming he's wearing whatever was in there, we're obviously thinking he's headed somewhere fancy…"

That was all the time allowance Castle had needed to hit the jackpot. "We don't _have_ to think," he announced, clearly and suddenly, head snapping up, eyes widened by a hint of a 'gotcha' smile. In his right hand, up went a tri-folded paper, a grand fleur-de-lis stamped at the heading. "We know."

From their positions in the room, blue, brown, and green eyes all turned and fell on the author…and the green ones narrowed, their owner marching a lot closer, snatching the letter out of his hand. "Castle! Are you _insane_? We don't have a _warrant_ for this; you can't just go poking through people's mail without probable cause! That's so far from protocol I wouldn't even know _what_ to call it - not to mention it's unethical - "

"Yes, and it's also your only lead," he interrupted, irritatingly calmly.

…_What_? _Now_ what was he getting at?

Rick seemed to take her acceptingly glaring silence as an opening. He bobbed his head toward the tri-fold in Beckett's hand, the one that was now slightly less folded as she voraciously scanned it against her judgment. Too late for that, anyway; he decided he'd be nice and just explain instead of holding it against her. "That would be an invitation for seven-forty-five this evening to the - "

"'First inaugural gala' for the United Charitable Board of Manhattan," Beckett finished, realizing for herself with each word she read. The other pair of detectives had flanked the two, and Beckett looked up at all three of them. "This is for seven-forty-five _tonight_. At the Pennsylvania. Bundy's making the rounds to save face, and leaving the country before cleanup."

Ryan exhaled a snort of mock-appreciation. "Somebody forgot to teach 'im Emily Post's guide to etiquette." Getting only dry looks in return for his deadpan, he shut up. Smart decision.

Beckett didn't bother acknowledging any interruption in the least. "That's less than five hours from now," she continued.

Esposito's voice hovered over her shoulder. "Yeah, and from what I've seen of this apartment he sure ain't comin' back."

"People running from a life in the pokey rarely do," Castle noted.

"So…" That left Ryan, who assigned himself to be the one to make heads or tails of this, apparently. "We've got approximately…five hours to arrest our probable killer before he's conveniently out of our jurisdiction and lounging on a bath towel in Greece. And…we don't know where he _is_."

"Well _that's _just a friggin' great afternoon," Esposito grumbled…

…but Castle clamped a hand to his forearm before any of the group could get anywhere. They stopped, paid attention. "No no…it _could_ be, actually," he corrected, an unmistakable, plan-wielding new look flashing in his eye. "…I think I've got an idea."

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"_No_."

"It's the only play we've got, Beckett."

"Sir, _no_. We can still find him."

"In four and a half hours? Not without a time machine."

"But, sir…" Twisting sideways to skirt the corner of a desk in her path, Beckett trotted the few inches to close the gap again between herself and her moving target. It could have had a lot to do with desperation for an out, here, and she might not even deny it. "We can't be wasting time at some _party_." The word 'party' couldn't have had more derision in it, as if she'd said 'brothel' or 'rat-eating contest' or something. "We've got other leads we can't just leave hanging - "

"Esposito told me the mother's alibi checked out. Same as the 'J through P' donor list."

_Well, Esposito's a loser._ "Well we still have the rest of the charity to fact-check. And Hayden Fletcher."

Captain gave one shake of his shiny balding head. "Nope. Detective Ryan made his last call before you left; faxed in the papers. Q through Z are clean and Fletcher was at his sister's in New Jersey."

_Well Ryan says anything to get attention! _"Well I still think there are better things we can be doing with our time than playing dress-up to make our catch." Goodbye, rationality: Kate Beckett once knew you well.

The captain stopped outside his office door, turned to his detective, and gave her a probing eyebrow. "Better than putting Ayumi Walker's killer in a jail cell?"

_That_ one had to sort of flatten her, didn't it… "No sir."

"And don't you trust my lead enough after all this time, that if I say the best way to get this guy before he falls out of our hands is to do a little undercover work, you do it? Or would you rather just question my authority?"

…She _hated_ semi-sarcastic rhetoricals. "…No sir."

"Good," came the paternally-smirking reply. "Face it, Detective: Castle's idea is our best shot. Now if _I_ were you, I'd get cleaned up. Your 'party' starts in four hours."

Very little on the planet compared to the frustration that was Beckett when Montgomery's door opened and shut in front of her face. Just the fact that she'd known it was a losing argument in the _first _place was enough to cause her tight-lipped expression, and a few shrewd uniforms took the wide path around her, deciding against suicide.

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_I look outside, _

_So many things I'd say _

_If only I were able, _

_But I just keep quiet,_

_And count the cars that pass by…_

"Hey!"

Alexis' January-blue eyes widened a bit as they looked up from page 417 of _The Tenant of Wildfell Hall_. Meeting the sight of her father holding up two different ties to his collar, she turned down the volume of her Sara Bareilles song and tugged out one of the lime-green earbuds it was streaming through. "Hey dad."

"Which one makes me look more inconspicuous?" His eyebrows wrinkled as that replayed in his head. "Or, just _less_ conspicuous - yes, less conspicuous. But I need to look rich, too…so, inconspicuous, rich, and bearing a guise of being benevolently charitable. Except to be charitable _is_ to be benevolent, or at least _look_ like it…_man_, I've gotta be off my game today."

Alexis smiled in amused sympathy. She'd heard hundreds of thousands of these little moments of questionable sanity. "Well, you are rich," she consoled, "but, I think that's a little too much for just one tie to say all on its own."

Rick wrinkled his nose in mock-disappointment. "Rats. Suppose this means I'll actually have to wear pants as well." He wagged both ties again, urging her like a child. "Pick, pick…"

In his left hand was a champagne-and-burgundy striped Brooks Brothers necktie; on the right was an Armani bowtie in charcoal grey. Alexis pointed to his right. "That one. The gold one's a little too…"

"Beverly Hills Sonny Bono?"

"…I…was going to say 'conspicuous.'"

"Ah. Fitting." The bestseller smiled. "Thank you sweetie. Go back to your feminism."

"Thanks. You too." Grinning softly, Alexis' hand lingered to move her bookmark, but something caught her mind, and she dropped it back in place. Her face took on an inquisitive expression as she looked up again, calling out over her dad's retreating footsteps. "Hey…so, this thing you guys are going to tonight…you for sure know who the killer is?"

Castle turned back around at his daughter's voice, walking a few paces couchward. After a moment, he answered fairly confidently, "We think so," with a measured nod. Then, he couldn't resist lightening the subject a bit: "Why, do _you_?"

"_Dad_." At least Alexis' eyerolls were always nicer than Beckett's, with a little smile in there. More shy than scolding. Who should ever want to scold Richard Castle anyway? Perish the very perishable thought. "No, I just mean…well, say you go."

"I'm with you so far…"

"And say this guy has…I don't know; say he's found out that the cops are looking for him there. What if he doesn't show up?"

"He _has_ to show up," Rick said simply. Closing the gap of rug under his Hanes-socked feet, Castle sat on the open couch space next to his high-schooler. "With security monitoring his place, there's no way he could've gotten back in, or, anywhere _near_ it, to see that we'd been there…there's really nothing that could've tipped him off. And to skip this event would mean to forfeit his plane ride."

Alexis seemed determined to find another way. "Well, can't you guys just send his name and picture and information to all the outgoing flights at all the airports? You know, ground him? That way you wouldn't have to go to the benefit."

"We…well, _they_…don't have enough puzzle pieces right now to legally prove he killed Ayumi. He'd be arrested on suspicion. I'll admit, he's our biggest suspect, and, if he's innocent then I'm Stephanie Meyer, but…without a confession or fresh prints to match to prove someone's not using his identity, we can't just call up all the airports in New York. Doesn't work that way, I'm afraid."

Seeming more pensive somehow, Alexis nodded, taking a different tack, in a voice that Castle could have sworn was just slightly more eight-year-old-ish. "Okay, well…what if he's…prepared anyway?"

"Prepared, like…"

"…What if he has a gun?"

With those words, Richard Castle's rugged, teddy-bear heart just about jellified, turning him into one of those bad clichés he'd never write in one fell swoop. "Aw, sweetheart." All this time he'd been shadowing detectives, and she was still worried about _that_? Okay, so he'd been on the scary end of guns before; he'd gotten _out_ of it, at least, hadn't he…? Scooching closer, his arms circled Alexis good and tight, and she set her book aside to reciprocate. "I've had scrapes before, and I'm still fine."

"I know," she said reasonably, "it's just…"

"I know." The same two words, but such a different meaning. He was, after all, her go-to guy. It was in his job description to know these things; to be just a little extra psychic when it came to matters of his daughter. Most were surprised how good a job he did. Big Castle moved back, a big hand on each of Little Castle's shoulders, and he leveled with her, blue eyes to blue eyes. "But it's _my_ job to worry about _you_. Not _your_ job to worry about _me_."

The teenager exhaled softly, allowing her smile back on. "I guess you're _technically_ right," she teased gently, but then reverted a little bit into seriousness. "I can't help it."

"I know that too," Rick answered, wearing a new grin of his own. He recognized a peeling corner of her worry he could pluck at, and never in his life had he failed to capitalize on that. "But just remember. Even if Shady McFlight-Hopper brings a gun to the gala - " Castle tightened his second hug to put Alexis' ear within whispering distance of his mouth. Then he did. " - Esposito has a bigger one."

She had to giggle, and Castle knew he'd won the hour. Her eyes softened on his face. "Thanks, dad."

"Anytime, pumpkin."

With no time to spare, the father-daughter Cuteness Moment was punctuated by a short series of flat buzzes from the front door - and whomever it was, they'd pressed the button to the tune of 'Shave and a Haircut.' Standing up, Castle automatically ruled out everyone he knew who lacked a sense of humor. "I got it."

Alexis nodded, and, going a step further, stood from the couch herself, bringing her book along. "I'll go read in my room, unless you need me…"

"Who knows?" he called behind him, "it might be for you." The second he unlatched and swung the door, though, after crossing the field of carpet and hardwood, he shook his head, tossing a "Nevermind, not for you," over his shoulder.

The two leather- and trench-coated figures in his doorway traded a glance. Seeing them, Alexis paused briefly on the bottom of the stairs, sending a greeting smile and a small wave. "Hi, Detective Ryan, Detective Esposito."

Both of them waved or nodded back as she disappeared upstairs, and then Ryan cracked, "Shouldn't assume, Castle; we could just as easily have been here for Alexis."

"Detective, if you're palling around with my daughter and I don't know about it, I think we might have to have the 'intentions' talk," he joked back. Castle stepped aside to let them in and shut the door after. "To what do I owe the drop-by?"

"Beckett," Esposito revealed. "Said she wanted us to come by and 'strategize' in plenty'a time before the bag tonight."

"Without her?" _That'd_ be surprising.

"Nah," Ryan corrected, "she called. Said she's still in traffic; should be right behind us."

"Why here instead of the precinct?"

Esposito raised his eyebrows, quipping, "Feeling inhospitable, Castle?"

"No, on the contrary, in fact, I just bought four new six-packs of Zima - I'm just saying it's very un-Beckett to move team strategy to the visitor field."

Ryan shrugged. "You ask me, she's just saving time. With a cap on our arrest zone she's already on the edge about making it. Might as well round corners, and your place is closer."

"And, bro…" Esposito lowered his voice, tilting his head down in a look that meant to question Castle's mental health. "Zima? Really?"

"…What?" Still with the expectant staring. "…I still buy regular beer too…"

"There we go."

Okay then. _Mental note, bring up only traditional Man Beer in the presence of purists. _Ushering them further into the apartment, Castle snaked an arm around each of the shorter men's shoulders, a silent 'walk with me, talk with me' if there ever was one. No reason they couldn't kill some time until Beckett arrived, right? "So!" he began heartily. "What do you gentlemen plan to wear to our finest hour this evening?"

Once again, Esposito and Ryan traded a glance. As they both looked down and gestured to their current, office-casual, slept-in work suits, the look on Castle's face could easily be compared to the look he'd gotten after reading his divorce settlements.

"_Oh_, no no no no. You're kidding, right?" He forced a chuckle, grinning wide. "That's funny, you guys are good…you got me…whoo. No seriously, c'mon."

One of Ryan's eyebrows migrated up. "Exactly how much do you think this job _pays_, Castle?"

"'Cause if you got a better idea, you can talk to the comissioner, get that fixed," added Esposito. "Until then, this's 'bout all we got."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, gentlemen," the author clucked, drawing them in like Regina George about to leak a secret. "I have the _highest_ respect possible for the fine, fine work you and your ilk do for the great city of New York. That being said…guys in those suits? Don't get into charity galas at the Pennsylvania Hotel. Guys in those suits park _cars_ at the Pennsylvania Hotel."

Circumstances considered, the detectives chose not to take insult. Instead, Esposito asked, "So what's _your_ big suggestion?"

"Easy." He said it like there had never been a more obvious decision in the history of the universe. "We've got - " he checked his watch " - three hours until showtime, and we are going to use them doing what our victim helped fancy people do every day. You're all coming with me, and we are going - dare I say it - shopping."

Matching groans immediately came from both the other throats. "Castle," Ryan protested.

"No, c'_mon_! It'll be fun." When he didn't get any reply, he pressed, "Because _you_ guys are in _my_ world now. And in _my_ world, they won't even let you _in_…unless you look the part."

Well, it wasn't like either detective could argue with that, could they? And they certainly wouldn't object to free stuff… One last look was swapped between them before Esposito sealed the deal, this time with nods incorporated. "All right, Castle, you got a deal." He topped it off with a finger pointed in warning. "But if anyone recognizes me anywhere I wouldn't wanna be recognized, you hurt. And I'm not wearin' no pink."

"Uh, yeah. Seconded."

"Fair enough," Castle grinned.

"_What's_ fair enough?"

Writer-boy dropped his hold, and all three men did a one-eighty to face the voice of Detective Katherine Beckett. She stood in the doorway, arms folded…and Castle wasn't sure if he _wanted_ to know how she'd gotten past the lock or if he _didn't_. Instead of debating that one - another time - he smiled.

"Oh, hey Beckett."

"'Sup."

"Good, you're here," Castle pronounced, clapping his hands together once, loud enough to make birds scatter, if there were any. "I'm taking all of you to one of my _personal favorite_ shops to prepare for our undercoverness tonight. Let's go; maybe we can still catch the elev - "

His walking and his talking were both put to a stop by Beckett; a flat palm intercepting his chest worked just fine. The refusal came fast and heavy - who'd have expected any different? "No. No _way_, Castle. Not even a _chance_."

Rick stage-sighed, feigning big-time exasperation. "Do I have to convince you _too_? You _have_ no other leads, we've got _three_ _hours_ until the event starts, and I'm sorry: isn't the point of being undercover to blend in with everybody else? Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but that's how _I_ thought it was."

Beckett blinked and switched arms, scrabbling for something to say that would back her stubbornness with logic. "Okay, fine - you say it's black-tie?"

"I didn't, Aaron Bundy did."

"I've got things at home I can wear."

Castle spent exactly three milliseconds enjoying the mental picture of that. Afterward, he simply grabbed Esposito's and Ryan's nearest shoulders and started toward the door, nudging past Kate mid-sentence…and, taking advantage of the fact that she wouldn't smash his puppy-dog face in while he was holding two good-guy hostages. "Well, I'm _very_ glad to hear that, Detective…in the meantime, _they_, however, _don't_, and I really don't think you want to go in there alone with…_me_ as your only backup. _Do_ you."

…_God_, that man was so frustrating. Ryan and Esposito offered shrugs and 'what can you do?' gestures as they were steered past her, but she saw right past those faces and could probably pinpoint the exact second they'd caved…and then there was Kate, turned around herself, standing facing out of Castle's doorway.

Castle tilted his head back a fraction, letting his voice flow down the hall to her. "You coming?"

Beckett didn't trust herself to form words to answer. Instead, she balled her hands into fists so tight that the skin went white around her knuckles, practically grinding her teeth…and then she decompressed. She took a deep breath, raised her head, and pulled Castle's apartment door shut, reminding herself that it was only three hours as she walked after them.

Yeah. Like the Titanic passengers hadn't said the same thing.

_Who made you king of anything?_

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**Phew! So glad to finally have another bit done. I'll apologize again to you guys for my delays, but my life is a very crazy thing right now. I'll also thank you for hanging in and reading despite the wait. Seems they've got the killer a little early, doesn't it? You'll just have to stick around to see if there's a twist somewhere. ;)**

**Like I said in the previous chapters and will continue to say, if there's anyone (ages 14 and over) interested in joining a Castle roleplaying forum, check out the bolded paragraph in my profile. Thank you. **

**Last but SO VERY not least: PLEASE, do me the quick favor of leaving a review to let me know what parts you liked best. It really helps me and makes my day to read those, and I could always use some day-making. xD **

**More to come after this 'commercial' - and the chapters will start to get shorter after this, because let's face it: we all know there are more commercials toward the end. ;D **

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	4. Fête

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**I won't bother saying that I'm horribly sorry for taking so long to update. I'm sure you guys know that already. Right? …Right? XD No, really. Blame Writer's Block on this one. It kicked me. In the face. :P**

**Anyway. When we last left our team, Castle was dragging them shopping…oh, **_**joy**_**… ;)**

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The entire interior was brighter than humanly necessary, every wall blanketed by overtly-chic pinstriped wallpaper in burgundies and creams. Circular racks of formal and semiformal clothing punctuated the main floor, with jaunty, superior-looking mannequins every twenty feet, judging from featureless faces in their tuxedoes and their evening gowns. Even the stream from the in-house _radio_ was annoying: a constant loop of a cookie-cutter Muzak samba, ready-made for elevators everywhere.

Thirteen seconds in, and Beckett had already predicted that she hated it here. Twenty minutes later, and nothing had changed. Now she was _positive_ of it.

"Oh, man! Beckett! You gotta come look at this one. They make it in _auburn suede_."

There he went again. Battling the urge to go Medieval on someone with every bone in her body, Beckett slowly rotated around, amusement-less glare in place. There was their writer, being as Castle as only Castle could be. He held a dinner jacket up to himself with every bit the expression of a seven-year-old at Chuck E. Cheese.

"Isn't it _great_?" he prodded.

"Sure. So buy _that_ one." Beckett kept her reply as monotone as possible to ensure minimal conversation about it.

Apparently she was going to get conversation _anyway_. "I wonder if I should get one in each color - they make three."

"I thought you _hated_ shopping, anyway?" the female detective couldn't help but ask.

"Yes, if you're counting what my mother and Alexis do. But what my mother and Alexis do is not '_shopping_.' It's more like a…hunt-and-pick ritual that lasts for hours or sometimes days and can only be compared to hunting season on the Serengeti." Castle looked lovingly down at the jacket, fingering the sleeve until he came up with the price tag in his hand. Upon reading the number, he made a face and dropped it instantly, but kept up his speech just the same. "_This_ is very different. There's something _so_…_civilized_ about picking out some finery for the evening just _knowing_…" Beckett didn't even realize he'd moved behind her until he dropped into a theatrical murmur. "…that you'll be having a _wonderful_ time. Good friends, good drink - "

"Wearing a gun," Beckett finished.

"…Yes. Well." Clearing his throat, the writer stepped back outside of his partner's 'bubble' and went back to browsing the next rack. "Obviously this _particular_ fête is, you know, the, ah, _exception_. Got a killer to catch." He glanced up, finding Beckett still standing with her arms crossed. "You should start looking," he said, completely serious.

_What? Oh, no. No way. _"I told you, I have things at home, Castle. I'm fine."

"Okay, _fine: home_ is all well and good, but you're _here now_. And according to your timetable, I don't think we're going to have a lot of spare time to swing by your apartment so you can pull an Oscar host."

"A what?"

"Quick-change." He swirled a finger in the air to mime a rotating door.

Beckett rolled her eyes. She could've made a _drinking_ game out of the action by now. "This was your plan all along, wasn't it."

"Why Detective Beckett - " he batted those eyelashes " - whatever do you mean?"

"Uh-huh." With a wry smirk that said she would get him back one day, Kate turned around and walked off. The _regrettable_ fact of it was: he was right. They had to get into this event and had borrowed time to do it, so as long as they were here with time to spare, she had better get browsing. First, though, she made a detour when she caught a glimpse of a shopping attendant, arms laden with plastic-wrapped suits on hangars, heaping them into the arms of an unsteady-looking Ryan.

Beckett stepped up behind the silver-haired attendant, tapped his shoulder, and slapped on a practiced sweet smile when he turned around. "Yes. Can I help you miss? I was just recommending some select choices for the gentleman here; I'd be happy to assist you as well…"

"Hi," she cooed. "Do you mind?" She wasn't really asking. Sliding past the man, Beckett lifted the suits from Kevin's arms - who shot her an immediate telepathic 'thank you' in relief - and handed all but three of them back to Jeeves over there. "He's in civil service - we all are, actually - so I'm going to guess he can't afford half the multi-thousands' of dollars' worth of Gucci you just heaped off on him. So we'll start with these. And I think I'm fine on the 'assistance.' But thanks."

"…Of course, miss."

_Ha_. Turning to walk away, Jeeves almost looked sort of…_what_ was the word again? Oh. Owned. Beckett released a victorious smirk and turned to Ryan, dropping the whole 'polite customer' thing. "There. That should keep the vultures off for at least ten minutes."

"Thanks," Ryan exhaled. "I wasn't sure what was crying louder; my wallet or my spine."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't make a final decision on that one 'til we're all _out_ of here."

"No decision." Castle was with them again. His voice came from behind Kate, then his head popped up between the two of them, hands full of hangars with various suit pieces draped through them. "I thought we talked about this? Anything for tonight goes on my tab, no arguments."

"Castle, we're not gonna just - "

"Ahp bup bah, Kevin Ryan, I do believe that's an argument."

Ryan shrugged, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth twice in a row, and went back to inspecting the collars of the three suits he was holding. Beckett wouldn't be bought - pun unintended - that easy. "Castle - "

"Tick tock, Beckett - and I'm not talking Ke$ha." Castle pointed up at the old-fashioned clock on the wall. "Two hours and twenty-seven minutes until Bundytime."

_Oh, fine._ Sighing the same dramatic way that used to make Johanna just shake her head and smile, Kate turned around, shook her _own_, and headed in the direction of the women's department. On the way, she passed by Esposito, who was examining the shoulders on a suit by the vest display.

"Shoot me," she said in passing.

"Not at these prices," her detective fired back.

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There. She had it. In fact, since Castle had been so _insistent_ on being Papa Doc for all this, she'd rung it up already, too, straight to his in-house tab as instructed. And was almost afraid to look at the price tag, for that matter. But what was done was done, and, forty minutes later, Detective Beckett re-appeared in the men's section, carrying a garment box whose contents he was _not_ allowed to preview. Served him right for making her shop.

Castle sensed her standing there and looked up from his thorough evaluation of the bow-tie display. His eyes lit up when he did. "He-ey, you found something! I knew you would. Lemme see."

"Nuh-uh," Kate replied, smirking in sick amusement when Castle's puppy-face fell through to China. "Not yet. Wouldn't want to overexpose it before the gala."

"Ooh, Katherine Beckett, there's a special realm of hell for teases like you."

"I try." Beckett swung the clear plastic bag that held the box back and forth a little. "So. I listened. Can we be done now?"

Castle pretended to ponder that. "Talking, no. _Shopping_…no." To her flat expression, he defended, "Ryan and Esposito haven't found anything yet!" Then his eyes sparked with mischief. "…Though, you _know_, with a _woman's_ input, this might go a lot faster…otherwise it's just _me_, and…" He gestured up and down to himself, indicating the sadly mismatched day suit he'd been wearing.

Was there no _end_ to this _day_? Twisting over her shoulder, Beckett looked back at the boys, neither of them looking anywhere _near_ ready to go undercover and catch a criminal, much less go out in _public_.

She turned around to Castle. "You haven't been _helping_ them?"

"Well, I…I _was_, but then I got caught up with Majorie…she's, an attendant here; _big_ fan. I signed her _Heat Wave._"

_Rrgh_. Yeah, there was going to be another homicide today, partner or not. As long as he wasn't _really_ on the payroll, she was pretty sure she couldn't get written up for that. "Come on," she said to Castle, beckoning him along with one finger. She strode in the direction of Ryan and Esposito. "Hey guys."

"Beckett. Whadja buy?" were the first words out of Esposito's mouth.

"A muzzle for _you_ if you _ask_ again, Esposito," she retorted smoothly.

"Ah." With a ten-year-old's smirk, Ryan looked toward his partner. "Gotta mean it's somethin' she don't want us to _see_."

"Mmhm." Javier fist-bumped him.

Beckett felt her eyes going on their four-thousandth roll of the day. She was going to buy them Frequent Flyer Miles. Noting the clock, she quickly changed the subject. "You two. What've you got?"

Suddenly, their demeanors changed. Funny. "I, ah - "

"Well, see - "

"The thing is, we, ah - "

"Yeah, we have no idea what we're looking for, here."

"You can _so_ tell they're totally green," Castle stage-whispered from somewhere off her left.

Yeah, well. She'd suspected as much. Throwing an indeterminable little look Castle's way, Beckett reluctantly but efficiently got to work, rattling off the first specifications she could come up with. "Esposito," she began, turning to him first. "Stay away from the blues; leave that to Frankie over there." She jabbed a thumb toward Ryan. "Go basic. White shirt, jet-black tux, dark red tie, and don't stray. We want to get out of here before they have to bury us in the storage room."

Espo seemed satisfied enough with that. "You got it," he said, looking equal parts surprised and impressed as he turned around to get to work.

Beckett pivoted to her other detective and continued. "Ryan, I'd go with a cobalt shirt, something dark, and a pinstriped suit - but _very_ _subtle_; you want to look rich and bored, not like Elton John."

"On it," Ryan nodded, and then he too was off amongst the racks.

Watching them go, Kate shook her head. _What is it with guys, anyway?_ Coordinating their way out of a paper bag was apparently _not_ in their basic training. She was yanked out of her thought by an enthused fingersnap from Castle. "Ah, perfect! And because we're all going together and I don't want to clash, _I_ will go in - "

Beckett cut him off. "Purple."

Castle blinked at her. "I…was going to say _green_, but since you so love emasculating me, _yes_, purple it is."

"_I'm_ wearing green," she corrected him.

"Not red?" The writer waggled his eyebrows.

Indulging the return of the witchy-powered smirk, Kate retorted, "Kills you, doesn't it," before nodding at the department ahead. "Shirt. Purple. Go."

"Right." And off Castle scurried.

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The clock shed another thirty minutes, and by the time it had, the four of them had made their final purchases and reached the mutual decision to avail themselves of the store's dressing room. One call to Jeeves had made sure of that, and the tip that Castle was extra sure to slip him got rid of any lingering resentment, Kate was sure.

Her hair was easy to swirl to the back of her head, and she did it with practiced skill. The _dress_… The dress she'd chosen had been as easy to slip into the second time as it was the first. Soft, silken material in a grey-tinted emerald green, one-shouldered, draping elegantly to her knees at its lowest. At its _highest_, it rode against her outer thigh, and then the hem gave way to nothing until four-inch Prada stilettos.

Oh, the wonders of a Richard Castle bank account.

The guilt still chewed on her for accepting that. Or at least, it _had_, up until the writer himself had seen her emerge. The second his jaw hit the floor, they were even. In fact, maybe he owed her. This was so subjective.

"Wire it shut, Castle," was the only thing she'd had to say.

Thankfully, the boys had dismissed her with less - she assumed that either they were unfazed, or that her death-glare had kept them from commenting any further than a wolf whistle. Now that they were all beyond _that_, it was down to the final touches.

Ryan was still futzing with his bowtie in the mirror. Letting out a stubborn sigh, Beckett came up behind him and tapped his shoulder, motioning that she'd fix it herself. "Turn."

His eyes did a three-quarter circle. "I think I can handle it, thanks. What are you, my mother?"

"No, I'm your…work-sister. More importantly I'm your superior and I don't have time for this. Turn around."

Reluctantly, the detective heaved a sigh of his own before he followed orders. "Jeez."

Beckett's hands went at his throat for about thirty seconds before she stepped back, surveyed the result, wrinkling her mouth a bit, and decided it wasn't worth it. With one - slightly agitated - tug, she undid the whole knot and slipped the tie off of him, flinging it backward over her shoulder. "Open collar," she decided. And he had no say.

Apparently it was 'aside' time: Castle looked to the female detective, brow curiously furrowed. "Hey, how come you'll admit to being their work-sister but you won't say you're my work-wife?"

"Probably because I'm _not_ your work-wife."

"Then, where _do_ I stand in this little precinctial family of yours?"

Beckett thought for only a second, well aware that she was under the amused eyes of Ryan and Esposito, waiting for their Rufio to deliver the 'Bangorang'…or else incriminate herself by vocalizing some sort of feelings for their writer. Which, naturally, she wasn't planning on doing. "You're our annoying work-cousin-twice-removed," she pronounced. Before he opened his mouth, she preempted, "And you'll see how many _other_ times you can be removed if you ever bring that up again."

The writer's lips buttoned inward. "Duly noted."

A dry smirk, one that had certainly seen more amusing times in its life, twisted Beckett's mouth as she turned around. "Everyone satisfied now?" Hey, after all, Castle already knew he was her unofficial partner. Why bolster his ego if he was just going to keep picking at his title, trying to upgrade?

"Fine by me," Esposito chipped in, turning to get a sidelong view of his suit in one panel of the mirror. "I gotta admit, Castle. Not. Bad. Not bad at all."

"Thank you," Castle beamed.

"I think he was more complimenting _himself_ than you," Beckett jabbed, giving the writer a light elbow.

Esposito shrugged. "Hey, if you got it, you got it." Fastening his last cuff, he stole a glance at his watch. "Yo - go time."

"How're we gonna get there?" Ryan inquired. "I mean if we went through all _this_, I doubt we're gonna impress anyone rolling up in cop cars."

"Ah, leave that to me," Castle said grandly, already lifting his cell phone to his ear. "I've got this _completely_ taken care of and one-_hundred_ percent under control."

"Wish we had your confidence, Castle," Javier remarked, and Kate couldn't help but agree there.

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Camera flashes spotted the entrance to the Pennsylvania, but of an entirely different breed than CSU. The night was young, the rich and elite were milling, and, at the end of the sidewalk, a heel lowered down from the interior of a black-tinted Towncar.

For the first time all night, Kate Beckett felt a discreet twinge of nerves.

"Showtime," Richard Castle whispered in her ear.

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**HA! Another one done. ^_^ Sorry that it's shorter than the others, but I did warn about that: the sections tend to run shorter and there are always more commercials toward the end of the episode. So this one is about half the length of the last one.**

**So! They made it through the shopping ordeal alive and have finally arrived at the party. Aaron Bundy doesn't stand a chance…or does he? You'll just have to stick with this to find out - and THANK YOU to those who have been. Like I said, I'm sorry that this story has been so troublesome for me, but I WILL get over my Writer's Block to finish it at some point or another. Only two more chapters to go. ^^**

**As I always say, anyone who's interested in a written Castle RPG should go check out the bold paragraph in my profile. And PLEASE REVIEW! After all this time, I'm really happy with how this chapter turned out and all the team-bonding-ness, so I'd ADORE your comments! That would be fantastic.**

**Thanks everyone. Coming up next: the takedown **_**goes**_** down! ;) **

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